


Bayes' Rule

by verymilkytea



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Blowjobs, M/M, Q is a Bayesian, Rimming, mild dirty talk, sweaty dirty sex on the kitchen floor, use of the word slut in a positive life-affirming way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verymilkytea/pseuds/verymilkytea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond breaks into Q's apartment and they have sex on the kitchen floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bayes' Rule

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be silly smut and then turned into a ~project because I have ~opinions about Q and then togglemaps gave me ~feelings about Bond. Both Bond and Q are taken to be queer here. 
> 
> My thanks go to frabjousday for editing and for preventing me from making a mistake with a previous title (this title, I like much better). My thanks go also to togglemaps, for editing and providing the majority of the Queer!Bond backstory. Also, Q's line about the two kinds of people Bond has sex with was actually something togglemaps said in a gchat we had about Bond.

 

 

  
At first, there’s no indication that anything is amiss. The front door to his flat looks normal - both in that it looks the same as usual, and in that it looks like every other door in the building. Installing a retina scanner or keypass on the door would likely attract more negative attention than it would waylay. It’s late, and Q is tired. But when he unlocks the door and steps inside, every nerve in his body starts to scream at him that something is wrong.  
  
Rationally, he knows that if someone had achieved forced entry he’d have known about it the moment it happened. He has the place wired to the teeth, bugged from every angle and the entire system set up to alert him immediately if someone so much as throws a stone at a window. The only way to get in without triggering the alarm is with the key; the key that Q has in his hand at this very moment.  
  
There shouldn’t be anyone in his flat.  
  
But there is. There is someone in the living room. Q feels his insides freeze, feels panic rising in his throat for one horrific split-second, and then-  
  
"Christ! 007," he says, breathing hard and trembling with relief.  
  
"Q," Bond says, by way of greeting. He doesn't get up from where he is leaning against the windowsill, silhouetted by the light from the street lamps filtering in through the curtains. Bond has always cut an impressive figure. Q flicks the light switch.  
  
"I...how did you find this place?” Q asks, settling on this as his first question, although he has many. Q’s home address is kept at a much higher level of classification than Bond can access - and if Bond had tried to access it, Q would have known.  
  
“I followed you,” Bond says. The tone of his voice indicates that it was not difficult.  
  
“You -- And how did you get in?" The slight quiver in Q’s voice is all that remains of his earlier panic. His mind is whirring, already obsessed with figuring out how Bond of all people managed to break in without triggering the alarms; and oh, there are a hundred million things that could have gone wrong, but each of them less likely than the next and none of them are 007’s style.  
  
Bond considers him for a moment, then smiles. "Not by getting around your security system," he says, putting Q out of his misery. It is, after all, somewhat flattering that Q has even bothered to consider that option.  
  
Q’s face relaxes. "But then..." he purses his lips, now even more confused.  
  
"I picked your pocket and copied your key," James says, holding the offending duplicate key up to prove it.  
  
Q closes his eyes and exhales slowly.  
  
"Ah," he says, nodding, conceding the point. "Human error."  
  
"Human error," James agrees, looking at Q carefully.  
  
Q stares for a moment at a patch on the carpet. He has too many questions. He looks up and meets James' gaze again. "Give me the key," he says politely, hoping that will be enough.  
  
"Or what?" James says, leaning back against the windowsill and folding his arms. He is the only person Q knows capable of looking insolent in an impeccably tailored suit.  
  
"Don't test me, 007," he says quietly. "It will not end well for you."  
  
James pauses, then walks slowly over to where Q is standing. He’s in Q’s personal space now, as he often is; just a fraction of an inch too close. Q does not have to wonder how James picked his pocket. There were probably a dozen opportunities for it in the last week alone. James reaches down to grasp Q’s hand and turn it over, so he can place the duplicate key on Q’s upturned palm. His hands are calloused and strong. He envelopes Q’s hand in his own, folding Q’s fingers gently to make a fist around the key. Q looks down at his hand as James’ fingers brush over his as he pulls away.  
  
James has probably made another copy already, and copies of his other keys as well, but Q can deal with that later. After a moment, he clears his throat, and looks back up into James’ face. "Cup of tea?"  
  
"Forgiven already? You're too easy, Q." His voice is warm, and a little rough around the edges, even when he’s teasing.  
  
Q gives him the ghost of a smile, "I don't hear that one very often."  
  
"Oh, really?" James says, looking smug for absolutely no reason.  
  
"If you think you're going to win an argument about which of us is the more shameless slut, you're very much mistaken," Q says mildly.  
  
Q has read everything there is to read about 007. It is not, strictly speaking, his job to know - but he has the requisite security clearance and a highly developed sense of natural curiosity. He knows that Bond regularly has sex on assignment, both when it aids the mission and when it doesn’t. Bond has, in the past month alone, fucked the CEO of a fortune 500 company, a croupier, an aeronautical engineer with ties to the Russian mafia, two bartenders, three strangers he picked up in other bars, a Syrian arms dealer, a CIA agent, and no fewer than three members of the Jordanian royal family. And Q knows about Bond’s conduct before he joined MI6 - knows as much as anyone can know about Bond’s time at Eton, knows about Bond’s torrid affair with a married man while he was still an undergraduate at Oxford. He knows about Bond’s complete lack of remorse for the fallout. Of course.  
  
Q leads Bond into the kitchen, putting his messenger bag down on the counter and draping his coat over a chair on the way. The flat is clean and tidy, mostly because Q hasn’t spent all that much time at home lately. He fills the kettle, and takes two mugs out of the cabinet. At least that feels familiar. The presence of Bond in his kitchen is still taking a bit of getting used to. Not knowing Bond’s motives for this impromptu visit makes him uncomfortable; his own ignorance gnawing at him, making him restless.  
  
“Do you always invite men who break into your flat to stay for a cup of tea, or am I special?” Bond asks, sounding amused.  
  
Q decides he has had quite enough of the smugness in Bond’s voice. And if Bond thinks he can make Q blush so easily, he has another thing coming.  
  
“Why are you here, 007?” Q asks, folding his arms and looking Bond dead in the eye.  
  
“Why haven’t you thrown me out?” Bond returns his gaze intently. His eyes are improbably blue.  
  
“Could I throw you out if I wanted to?” Q asks, tilting his head. His eyes roam over Bond, taking in the bulk of him. He’s so much broader than Q, all lean muscle, and so much stronger. He can’t be ignored.  
  
“Of course you could,” James says, leaning in a little, smiling. Without fully intending to, Q takes a step back. James smiles wider. “So, you tell me. Why am I here?”  
  
“I am many things, Bond, but a mind-reader is not among them.” Q says.  
  
“Then use your imagination,” Bond suggests, still incredibly close. He does not break eye contact.  
  
Q chafes at being told what to do. But he thinks for a moment, taking everything in, ordering Bond’s possible motives according to descending posterior probability, before offering his first guess. “I hope it wasn’t just to show me you could do it.”  
  
Bond gives a minute shrug. Q knows him well enough by now to realise immediately that he is not likely to get anything more out of Bond on this front. Which in itself means he was close, maybe even right. A consolation, but a small one - this line of questioning won’t lead to any new information, which is really all Q cares about. There’s no room for ego in the process of inference.  
  
“Did you want to see me scared?” Q asks, which wasn’t quite the second most likely reason, but has a better chance of generating an interesting reaction. He’ll be disappointed if he’s right this time; he really hadn’t taken Bond to be quite so insecure.  
  
“I’ve seen you scared before,” James says softly.  
  
“Scared of you,” Q clarifies.  
  
“Cold,” he says, indicating that Q is far from the truth, and maybe that he finds the implications of this guess insulting. He still might be lying, it’s hard for Q to tell. Bond is the best liar Q has ever seen. Behind them, the kettle starts to boil.  
  
Q makes the tea, acutely aware of how close to him Bond is standing. It doesn’t feel like an intimidation tactic, not quite, but Bond’s raw physicality is always a little breathtaking. And Bond has always been somewhat presumptuous about Q, always standing too close, always a little too familiar. Q can admit to himself that he finds it more exciting than anything else, more arousing than perhaps it should be. But he always allows himself to enjoy it; he sees no point in denying himself the pleasure, or any pleasure, really, even if it never goes further. Although he doesn’t have anything close to Bond’s list of conquests, that’s less out of any moral compunction and more out of lack of time, opportunity and interesting partners.  
  
He sets the tea down on the counter to cool for a moment, then turns back to Bond. The way he’s responding to Q’s questions is information in itself. Q decides he is entitled to at least three guesses. He intends to make his last one count.  
  
“Is there something you want here, 007?” He says, wondering if he has the measure of him now.  
  
“Oh, very good. Much warmer,” Bond’s voice is low and husky, and it affects Q completely. Q’s back is right against the kitchen counter now. Bond reaches up and brushes his thumb very deliberately across the side of Q’s jaw.  
  
“You didn’t have to break into my home for that,” Q says. “You know I find you appealing.”  
  
There’s a sudden glint in Bond’s eyes, before he leans in and says, “I find it adds a certain something to the experience.”  
  
“How tremendously unsurprising you are,” Q says. Then he grabs a fistful of Bond’s tie and hauls him in, kissing him hard.  
  
Bond kisses back immediately, tongue pushing into Q’s mouth, hot and wet and rough. Q has to put his hands behind him on the counter to steady himself, and then that’s obviously a bad decision because he could be putting his hands around Bond’s shoulders, so he does that instead. Bond already has one hand in Q’s hair, holding him where he wants him, and the other around his waist, pulling them flush against each other. It makes Q dizzy, getting to touch James after so long, finally able to feel that incredible body against him, to push back against him with his own body in reply.  
  
When Q bites Bond’s lip he gets a soft, low rumble of a laugh in response. They pull apart, gasping a little, but almost instantly Bond changes his mind and kisses Q again. Q has to tilt his head up a little to get the angle right, and then it’s perfect. The insistent, aggressive slide of Bond’s tongue against his becomes the entirety of the known universe for at least thirty seconds. His fingers begin to undo Bond’s tie without him even thinking about it; when it’s loose enough, he starts on Bond’s shirt buttons, and he’s pretty sure he’s never undone a shirt so fast in his life, but then the shirt is gone and Bond’s chest is gloriously bare. Q runs his hands over the breadth of him, pausing only to let Bond strip him of his shirt too. When Bond presses an open-mouthed kiss to one of his nipples, Q gasps and pushes his hips forward.  
  
“I thought you said you weren’t easy,” Bond says, sounding deeply amused.  
  
Q laughs.“Oh, no,” he says, “I said I don’t hear it very often. But I assure you, I am extraordinarily easy - though I’ve got nothing on you, of course.”  
  
“You seem to know a lot about my sex life,” Bond says.  
  
“Oh, please,” Q says impatiently, still rocking his hips, “I know _everything_ , Bond, give me a little credit. You’ll fuck anyone who gets in your way or whom you find remotely attractive.”  
  
“Which are you, then?” Bond says, with some interest.  
  
“You know, I really don’t care,” Q says, because he really doesn’t. Sex with someone interesting is worthwhile in itself. Bond slides one hand down below the waistband of Q’s pants, gripping his arse. Q wants more; can’t help himself. He parts his legs a little so Bond can slide his thigh between them, and the friction is incredible, is perfect - he starts to rock his hips against Bond. He can feel Bond’s erection against him, through the layers of clothing. Bond kisses just under Q’s jaw, then along the side of his neck, making him shiver and moan.  
  
Bond starts mouthing his way down Q’s chest, rubbing at one of his nipples with his thumb. When he gets down on his knees and unzips Q’s trousers, Q says “Oh, god yes,” all in a rush, without even thinking about it. Bond pulls Q’s trousers down to his ankles and then pauses, smirking up at him, evidently feeling quite as powerful as ever kneeling on Q’s kitchen floor.  
  
Q’s cock is already hard when Bond pulls it free from his pants and sucks the head of it into his mouth. The broad flat of his tongue feels slick and incredible as he works his mouth down, then up, then down again in a slow, measured slide. Bond’s motion is practiced and smooth; his mouth feels amazing. Q is impressed, there’s no other word for it. And surprised, to see and feel Bond’s obvious ease in this position, the way his mouth takes Q’s cock. Q might, at most, have expected a sort of artless enthusiasm. He was not expecting Bond to devote everything to the task, not prepared for the fierceness of his concentration, the efficiency of his motion, the perfect wet heat of his mouth.  
  
“That feels amazing,” Q says. Bond pulls off so he can lick around the head of Q’s cock, messy in a way that is unmistakably intentional. He opens his eyes and looks up - Q finds making eye contact with him almost startling, like a jolt of electricity. Q stares down, feeling almost hypnotised, as Bond takes him into his mouth again, takes him deep, without pause. Q puts his hands in Bond’s hair, stroking and scratching a little with his nails. Bond seems to like that; he sucks harder, hollowing his cheeks, stroking Q’s balls with his free hand.  
  
Q groans, unable to help himself from thrusting forwards a little. He is pretty sure his knees are shaking, and he’s really not sure how he is still standing up straight, even with the counter behind him. “I think I’m losing structural integrity,” he says, gasping.  
  
Bond slides his mouth off Q’s dick with an obscenely wet noise, and says, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”  
  
“You absolutely should,” Q says, still panting.  
  
“Get down here,” Bond says. Q slides down the kitchen cabinets gracelessly into Bond’s lap, and kisses him enthusiastically, as he’s always and especially interested in kissing after oral sex. Bond’s lips feel swollen; Q belatedly remembers to kiss him a little more gently. After a moment, Q undoes the front of Bond’s trousers and draws out his cock, which is thick and hard and magnificent. Q licks his own palm and fingers, then wraps his spit-slicked hand around Bond’s prick and slides it up and down, getting a feel for it.  
  
Q really wants to bend down and lick the head of Bond’s cock, so he does. He strokes the sides with his fingertips. He doesn’t quite want to give Bond a blowjob; well, he certainly wouldn’t mind it, but what he’s really hoping is that Bond’s going to fuck him, although he’s not sure exactly how he wants it just yet. He kisses his way up Bond’s chest, rubbing his thumb over Bond’s nipples to see how it affects him (which it does - only minutely, but there’s potential). He kisses Bond’s neck and then his mouth again, and only pulls away when he decides he wants to say something.  
  
“I want you to fuck me,” he says.  
  
“God, yes,” Bond says, rough and low.  
  
“Excellent. I assume you brought things to help you achieve that?” Q says, pushing his glasses up his nose as they are in danger of slipping off. He doesn’t feel like getting up to fetch things.  
  
“Of course,” Bond favours him with a twist of a smile, eyes sparkling. “Now turn around and let me see that incredible arse.” Q smiles back at him, and gets out of his lap with some regret. He isn’t sure exactly what Bond has in mind, but he finds he wants to get on his hands and knees, so he does, moving his discarded shirt so it provides a layer between himself and the tiled floor. Bond runs his hands over Q’s back and thighs, making a noise of appreciation. His hands are warm, and the steady, sloping pressure is wonderful.  
  
After a moment, Bond’s hands settle on the cheeks of Q’s arse. Slowly, Bond spreads him open, and then—  
  
“Jesus Christ!” Q gasps in surprise and pleasure when Bond presses his face to Q’s entrance and licks him. The surprise must be obvious, because Bond laughs under his breath, then licks him again. And again, and again, hot and wet and slow. Q’s back arches, pressing into it, wanting more. Bond’s fingers spread Q’s arse wider so he can push his tongue inside. Q moans, he can’t help it; it feels incredible, being opened on Bond’s tongue. He knows he’s being loud and a little desperate. But then Bond is groaning too, pushing his tongue in deeper this time.  
  
There’s a pause, and Q hears some rustling; then Bond pushes a slicked finger into him, gently, stretching him open. Bond’s fingers are thick and strong, and Q’s breath hitches when Bond adds a second one. He pushes his hips back, trying to get more pressure, more stimulation, more everything. He’s aware of how he looks and he doesn’t care; hopes Bond likes it, thinks he probably does, but it doesn’t matter much because he couldn’t be any different.  
  
“Turn over?” Bond murmurs.  
  
“Oh, yes,” Q says, liking the idea. Bond pulls his fingers out and Q pushes himself over onto his back. He feels a little more exposed, but it’s a good feeling; it gets even better when James spreads Q’s thighs apart. When he pushes his fingers back inside him - three now - Q makes an incoherent noise of pleasure. He’s not going to last.  
  
“James,” he gasps, keening a little, “I want you to fuck me, now.”  
  
“There’s my shameless slut,” James says appreciatively, voice warm like honey. He takes a condom out of the pocket of his discarded jacket, and Q watches him with interest as he tears the foil open and rolls the condom onto his dick. It feels as if it is taking a long time, as if James is intentionally being agonisingly slow, and Q is about to say something disparaging about old men. But his rational brain reminds him it probably isn’t taking long at all, and it’s just a reflection of how badly he wants James to fuck him.  
  
James braces himself over Q with one hand on the floor, and uses the other hand to guide his cock inside Q. He’s so big; the stretch and burn feels incredible, a little painful, the kind of pain that makes the mind bright, makes it impossible to be anywhere but completely in that moment, awash with sensation. It’s all one long, slow slide and then James is all the way in. Q hitches one of his legs loosely over the curve of James’ hip, trying to get even closer.  
  
Q closes his eyes, making a blissed-out little “Mmm” sound when James starts to rock in and out, moving his hips in short, shallow thrusts. It feels like being worked open; it feels so good Q never wants it to end, wants Bond to fuck him like this forever. Bond is staring down at him, and the expression on his face is unreadable to Q.  
  
“Gorgeous,” James says, and Q can feel himself go pink with the compliment. Then Bond starts really fucking him, deep and hard and so perfectly angled that he never wants that to end either, and he has many contradictory opinions about everything right now and he is definitely not going to last much longer. Bond fucks him harder still, relentlessly; Q is panting, mouth open, rocking back against it, unable to stop himself from moving.  
  
“Oh god, that’s so good,” Q moans, “I’m really not…I’m going to….oh, god, yes, please, just like that, I— ah!”  
  
James doesn’t say anything, just looks into Q’s eyes and keeps slamming into him until Q comes noisily and messily all over his own stomach, locking both legs around Bond’s waist and pulling him in deeper. Then James comes too, groaning, loud and hoarse. It sends another jolt of pleasure through Q to see James shut his eyes as he comes inside him.  
  
They’re both breathing hard as Bond settles his weight on top of Q. They lie on the kitchen floor, just resting for a moment.  
  
“Ah,” Q says, after a while, breathing out a big sigh. “Right, we’ve got to do that again.”  
  
James starts laughing, and then doesn’t stop until he’s wheezing a little. “What, right now?”  
  
“Hmm, maybe I want something to eat first,” Q concedes. “But after that, certainly.”  
  
"Not worried about becoming another notch on the bedpost?" Bond says, leaning his forehead against the side of Q’s head, smiling.  
  
"Why, is there something wrong with a notch on the bedpost?" Q says, turning his head to kiss James on the cheek.  
  
He gets James to laugh again, at that. It feels like an achievement.


End file.
